


Sweet Child O' Mine

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Series: Smol Dragon Barry 'verse [15]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Chains, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dragons, Epic Rescue, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Kissing, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6787663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[title because Mothers' Day]</p><p>Barry gets dragon-napped and sees an unexpected someone in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueStar1937](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueStar1937/gifts).



> Happy Mother's Day! Or Mothers', if the case may be :D
> 
> Also, since she's mentioned, I know that Len's mom in the comics is named Shirley. Keepin' Sierra's name, though.

The 8th of May—Mother’s Day. Central’s fort celebrates the holiday more enthusiastically than most, especially since so many raids are igniting across the country. However, since so many members of the fort don’t have mothers, the name has been changed to Parents’ Day. The same applies to Father’s Day. Supporters also say that it gives gender-neutral creatures representation as well.

Still, so many are without parents at all.

Mick can at least have fun with Jax, since Beverly has officially acknowledged him as Jax’s guardian. He’s up at the pavilion with her and Constance, the parent instead of the orphan. Caitlin’s with him; the less said about the conversation with her mother, the better.

Cisco calls his mother from under the shelter of Wells’ wing. He goes as long as he can before Dante’s name is coveted too much. Jesse declares him her brother, and the two work on making something for Wells.

Sara’s off to Star City for the day, taking Lisa with her. Lisa leaves traces of affection in her sibling bond as a message for her brother. It’s not every day they can just fly off to visit the Lance family after all.

As for Len, well. All of his dragons take every Parents’ Day as full permission to tackle him at will. When he wakes in the morning, it’s to Barry and a shrunken Ray crowding him with almost aggressive snuggles.

“Good morning!” Ray cries— _right_ in his ear.

“Morning, Hatch Scout,” Len grumbles. When Barry makes an irritated noise and butts his chin, he scratches under his antenna with a fonder, “Hello, Barry.”

As soon as he’s outside, the Mardon brothers dive towards him and wrap around him like eager anacondas. They leave his arms free, but Len knows it’s not so he can push them away, but to shower them with pets.

Slightly muffled by their scales, he deadpans, “Not even a hello, boys? Where are your manners?”

“ _You_ taught us manners,” Clyde says.

In a blink, Shawna’s in front of them and simpering, “Come on, boys. Save some for the rest of us.”

Len’s only allowed a second to breathe. Shawna tackles him and showers him with more nuzzles. Barry, the little traitor, rolls around on the grass laughing and does absolutely nothing to help.

“Happy Parents’ Day, Len,” Shawna murmurs, “thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

Barry’s kicking up a lot of dust. Len has to wipe his eyes to clear it. But his dragon’s persistent, making it twice as worse when Kendra gently cuffs him with her feathers and gives him a kiss.

“You saved me,” she says, purring as he scratches under her chin, “and gave me a home. I don’t remember my biological family, but you’re definitely my brother.”

Damn it, Barry. Stop getting dust in his eyes.

Bivolo almost gives Len an attack of bright yellow happiness. Thankfully Len throws his arms around his neck and says, “It’s the thought that counts, Roy. Keep it a thought.”

The rainbow-colored dragon snorts white sparkles. Fortunately he concedes the point.

Hartley is the last to show his affection. He shoves talon sheaths at him, fit perfectly to his size. He snaps, “They work with your powers. There,” and flies off.

They glitter gold in the sun, almost the exact shade of Lisa’s scales. Len transforms his hands and puts them on immediately.

After all of these little meetings, it’s almost noon. Barry eats an early lunch before pressing a dragon kiss to Len’s cheek.

“I’ll be back later,” he says, pressing their foreheads together.

Len smirks, “Be sure to take your time. I have plans.”

Barry snorts, “I’m sure.”

In a single shot of lightning, he’s a tiny speck among the clouds. He always goes on long solo flights for Parents’ Day. His sire hasn’t been seen since his dam’s murder, and it’s better for him to take time to mourn them by himself. Afterwards, he returns to Len, accepting little strips of meat from his hands before falling asleep on his stomach. They decided to make it a tradition after their second year.

Len turns on his heel with a conniving grin. “Peek!” he calls, “Time to get that new painting from Central Museum.”

* * *

Barry soars to the site of his family’s old nest, located in the denser part of Central Woods. He never tells Len about this part, though he supposes Len would now know with their bond. They usually respect each other’s privacy as best they can, but all Len has to do is glance over.

The scents are long gone, but Barry knows the exact spot all the same. He rolls onto his back in the center of it, now a patch of grass and wildflowers, watching the clouds roll by.

He starts trilling and making small pained noises. Len helps with his rush of adrenaline and quiet understanding—Lewis was a bastard, but the Snart siblings’ mother, Sierra Baxter, remains a shining presence in their memory. She had died shortly after their hatching.

Barry mourns her too. He falls asleep mourning her, his mother, and his father.

* * *

He’s startled awake by two human hands squeezing his throat.

* * *

Shawna’s barely landed before Len starts screaming.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry's capture and rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I very much am terrible at chapter stories, no matter how short they are. WHOOPS.
> 
> Oh, and bit of a language warning. Not nearly enough to change the rating, but y'know. Just thought I should warn you, because. Ilu.

When Barry wakes, he’s surrounded by solid black cold. He almost goes back to sleep, thinking he’s being held by Len—until he realizes that Len’s scales aren’t black.

Everything comes crashing back: flying to his parents’ old nesting place, mourning, falling asleep, the strangers, Len’s pain—Len.

Len…

_Len?_

No answer. Barry—Barry can’t feel him at all. Distressed keens build in his throat.

A voice, a gentle feminine alto, croons, “Don’t worry, little one. Your rider still lives. They gave you a cursed chain that blocks your bond.”

Looking up at the great shadow, Barry sees the glistening black dragon cradling him between her forelegs. About fifty feet in height, she has metallic silver talons and longer forelegs than her hind. Her four eyes, two bigger ones with two smaller behind them on either side, are different colors: the bigger ones are a shade of brown dark enough to look as black as her scales in the right lighting; the smaller are bright blue, shocking against the shade of her scales. Her ruff is made of hard layered spikes coupled with horns that fade from black, to navy, to light blue, to white at the tips. Her underbelly is gold, shelled like her ruff.

What catches Barry’s eye is the chain connecting to a tight spiked collar of tough iron painted with the tight language of curses in sandy brown paint. Around the collar are splotches of baby blue bruising and broken scales. Barry touches his own neck, where a similar collar rests; it doesn’t feel nearly as tight as this dragon’s looks.

She nods, gentle and sympathetic. “Because you are so small, they believed you to be a hatchling despite your strong bond. I offered to look after you.”

Barry shudders. “Where are we?”

The dragon hums, deep and guttural. “Oh, little dear. You were taken by raiders.”

Electrified dread crackles under Barry’s scales. “Raiders?” he whispers.

She lets him scramble up her paw to take a peek. Wherever they are is settled on the shores of an enormous lake, dull grey under the thick clouds. Mountains loom in the distance, though their shape is blocked by the overcast weather so Barry can’t see enough of their shape to identify them. Other dragons, malnourished and also chained, crowd together in pale misery, the brightest of which is a neon green that’s almost white from exhaustion and, most likely, disease.

Barry cringes when he sees the raiders themselves. Although they look like normal humans, their reputation creates enough of a placebo effect to intimidate even the larger dragons. Their clothing is made of expensive material, albeit dirtied from their travels: the women wear embroidered corsets of black lace and leather over soft pastel shirts, the men chiffon cardigans over sturdy riding shirts, all over custom-made boots and top notch riding pants. Some are older, but most, Barry’s startled to see, are young and fresh-faced.

They seem easygoing and cheerful, clinking crystal glasses around their large campfire. Their tents are likewise huge, with all matter of silk and furniture inside like mini-houses.

The black dragon murmurs to Barry’s silent inquiry, “Here, you either care for the captured hatchlings, or prepare to be slaughtered for your organic materials. Sometimes they prolong your suffering simply because they like the look of you.”

One woman in a crimson cloak finally notices the conversation. When she speaks, her voice is neither sickly sweet or particularly venomous; she sounds…well, _normal_.

“Oh hey!” she crows, raising her glass with a delighted grin, “Blackie! Is that pretty hatchling awake then?”

Barry nearly snaps his teeth at her. At the black dragon’s low warning rumble, he digs his talons in the wet sand instead.

“Yes, Miss,” the dragon replies for him, “I was acclimatizing him to his new situation. I thought you would wish to see him once he was calmed.”

The woman laughs like a girl on vacation. The next second, the black dragon is moaning in agony from an arrow in her scarred shoulder. Barry instinctively cowers from its sinister pulsing glow.

Their assailant lowers her crossbow, still smiling. “Come on, Blackie,” she playfully chides, “you know you’re not supposed to assume things! Let’s see you, little guy!”

Not wanting to potentially cause further harm to his protector, Barry obediently leaps onto the black dragon’s giant talons and sits on his haunches. The raiders gasp and murmur in admiration; when they tell him to spread his wings, he does, the same for uncurling his tail, and so on, until he feels like a mannequin on display. A mannequin with a bruising collar and chains.

“Okay,” says one of the male raiders, a guy with a particularly bushy beard, “I say we call ‘em Red.”

“You kidding me?” his colleague, a man with a vicious scar over his eye, snickers, “ _Scarlet_ is so much better.”

The woman grins, “So you can make all those _Gone with the Wind_ references?”

“Well why not?"

“We’ll put it to a vote later,” Beard decides, “for now, hatchling, I’ll give you some advice: don’t try to fly off. Those chains do more than just block mental abilities.”

Barry has no doubt. He waits until they’re back to celebrating before retreating to the black dragon’s chest. She hums, strained with pain but not cowed, having pulled the arrow out the moment it stopped pulsing.

“Purple drake extract,” she explains quietly, grunting at every other word, “nasty creatures. The same was used on my eggs.”

Barry’s heart plummets, only to slam against his chest in retaliation. He growls, “Did _they_ —”

“Oh no, dear one,” she sighs, “this was long before they became what they are. I’ve been passed around like a party favor for years, and it all started when my brood was killed to teach me a lesson." Another sigh, one that encompasses every mother’s grief, “I thought, since we’re here together, we’d get to know each other. Some new arrivals are coming soon besides, and I’m not getting any younger.”

The implications behind that cause Barry’s insides to quake with rage. “I was stolen,” he says, hardened with determination, “and I’m not gonna stay that way. None of you are.”

The black dragon spares him a gentle melancholy look. “Oh, dear one,” she murmurs, “that’s what they all say.”

* * *

The dragon tells Barry to call her Robbie, after her sire. She says it’s not wise to give out real names here, though she doesn’t explain why. Barry finds out regardless: a new arrival, who doesn’t have a fellow dragon to guide them, gives their name and the clean-shaven raider uses his power to ensure complete enslavement.

They may look human, Barry decides, but they’re definitely not as wonderfully strange.

“I’ll go by Henry, then,” he tells Robbie, “that was my sire’s name.”

Robbie hums, “Lovely. I’m sorry we had to meet under such circumstances, Henry.”

“It’s okay,” Barry assures her, “My bond might be blocked, but my human’s definitely coming to get me—him and my friends. He’s handled half of Central’s heavy-weights,” he proudly declares.

Robbie spares him a sad smile. “Has he now?”

“Oh yeah. And my friends are scientists, like me. They won’t stop until we’re all safe.”

Robbie heaves a billowing sigh. “I had friends, once.”

Barry tilts his head. “What happened?”

“One of them had an egg. They couldn’t possibly risk coming after me.”

Barry nuzzles her chest. She rests her cheek lightly on his body.

“You know,” she murmurs, “I know a Henry. Delightful fellow, Healing Sigil. Should they take us back to their headquarters next, I’ll introduce you.”

Barry practically vibrates. “You…what?”

So Robbie tells him about Henry, a lithe dragon of red and white—typical colors for Healing Sigils—who, despite his imprisonment, always has a smile for his patients. He’s not allowed to do more than keep everyone alive, but he does his damndest to do more despite the consequences.

It’s impossible. It’s absurd. Still, Barry takes comfort nevertheless.

Two days pass.

* * *

Not a week after Barry’s capture, the raiders are clearly preparing to move on. His healing factor’s already taken care of far too many wounds, all of which he got from his usual reckless altruism. While many dragons in the camp now looked at him with a degree of cautious respect, the raiders were starting to debate whether he was more trouble than he was worth.

“We don’t even know what kind he is,” the woman argues, “I say if he’s anything less than a Lightning or Honor, we cut him loose.”

Barry dreads to think what will happen when—because they _will_ , he _knows_ they will—they find out his Element. So he asks Robbie, “Sorry, I didn’t ask: what’s your type?”

Robbie responds with a ghost of a smirk that’s now familiar. “Don’t worry, little one. Whatever yours is, if it’s as valuable as you think, they’ll treat you better.”

“…oh.”

“And should we be together for when summer sets in, I wager you’ll know exactly what I am, Henry.”

Barry perks up, “Oh! Cool! Not that, y’know, staying _here_ is cool, but—”

“Peace, dear. I understand.” Robbie’s usual sorrow returns. “I used to have a kit who talked just like you.”

Barry’s heart plummets. He almost can’t ask: “Where…did they…?”

Robbie doesn’t answer, but her expression when looking at the raiders is more than enough.

Barry’s lightning hums under his scales. Everyone better come soon, or he’s going to try busting out of here himself.

* * *

The raiders start moving the dragons that night. Barry’s finally gotten a feel for his collar’s frequency; if he doesn’t see a family wing or dash of hair, he’s going to phase and go right for the raiders themselves.

Naturally it’s the same night Len steps right into their path.

Seeing him without their bond is a slap to the face. Barry normally adores the sight of Len fully shifted, complete with draconic hands and feet, scales, wings, and eyes. Yet with not even a whisper between them, the sight of him like this forces Barry’s instincts to view him as a threat.

He can’t help giving a low keen. Len’s eyes widen a fraction at the noise.

His sharp teeth bare themselves in a conniving grin. “So you _do_ have something of mine,” he drawls, frost pooling around his lips with every breath.”

The entire herd is frozen in amazement at a _Homo draconii_. The raiders, however, are grinning like mad.

“Do we now?” Beard laughs, “How about you fight for him, then? But if we win, we get _you_.”

“Three against one?” Len mock-scolds, “That’s hardly fair. Let’s even the playing field.”

He crooks his finger over his shoulder. His Rogues—minus Mick, probably due to his size and color scheme—prowl from the shadows. They’re joined by Barry’s friends, with Killer Frost out to play, Sara, and some _very_ angry Wests. Even Harry’s mouth is dripping acid.

“As Director of Central City Fort, I can and will force you to surrender,” Joe bellows. Barry’s never seen him so close to going feral. “If you don’t hand over my son, we’ll just have to take you up on that offer.”

The woman raises her eyebrow. “Your _son_? Sir, we don’t have any baby centaurs here.”

“He’s certainly the size of a baby,” Iris smirks, “bet you mistook him for a hatchling, huh?”

Giddy with excitement, Barry crawls up Robbie’s neck and onto her head. “They did!” he calls.

The raiders whirl around.

“ _That’s_ an adult?” the clean-shaven one cries.

But they’ve already made their last mistake, for Len is suddenly behind them and teasing, “Debatable, really,” before plunging his talons into the men’s necks.

The woman raises her crossbow. Barry snarls—

And Robbie _roars_.

Her collar ignites with the searing pain used for stopping such exertions, but Robbie doesn’t seem to feel it. Barry’s forced to clutch one of her horns as she barrels through the startled crowd of dragons. Ice coats the ground she tramples, cold and furious, but the woman is not turned into a sculpture—not completely.

No, Robbie pins her and turns her legs and arms to ice. Her blood seeps through her nose from how hard her collar is working to stop her. If she doesn’t desist soon, she’ll—

Barry almost doesn’t hear what Robbie snarls next, moving to phase through his own restraints despite the burning agony that follows, before phasing his talons into Robbie’s lock and tearing it apart.

But he does catch it: “ _Stay away from my son, you inhuman cunt.”_

And.

_What?_

As soon as Robbie feels her collar fall, she grins savagely through the residual burn and creates a fist with her paw.

“But,” the woman gasps, “I-I took care ofthose eggs myself!”

“Oh, darling,” Sierra purrs, and _oh shit_ , she sounds _just like Lisa_ , and no wonder her smirk was so familiar, it’s _Len’s_ , it’s—“you know you shouldn’t assume.”

She beats the body to a crunchy pulp.

You could’ve heard a pin drop.

“Well?” Sierra—for it _is_ Sierra, there’s no doubt in Barry’s mind—“Aren’t you gonna free these poor souls or am I supposed to do the work for you?”

Even Harry looks oddly sheepish as he and everyone else from Central is startled into action. Everyone, of course, except Lisa and Len, who still can’t seem to remember how to move. Barry doesn’t blame them; if he saw _his_ mother, he’d swallow every fly in the state.

Thankfully, their mother knows exactly what to do: scoop Len into her talon and herd Lisa under her wing.

“My babies,” she’s sobbing, “ _my babies_!”

As the shock wears off on both sides, Barry and Len’s bond crashes open again, overwhelming them into fresh cries as well.

“Mom,” Len croaks, “How—?”

“Shut up, Lenny,” Lisa sniffs, “just enjoy it.”

Barry lays himself flat on his belly in a pseudo-hug, pressing his cheek into Sierra’s cold head. Then Iris, Joe, and Wally are calling him, and he’s gone in a blink.

* * *

The whole story comes out as Caitlin and Shawna examine Sierra: the eggs the woman spoke of was a brood Sierra had _after_ Len and Lisa; when she was brought into captivity, she met Henry, the Healing Sigil she told Barry about. The moment they were found out, the eggs were smashed.

Barry swallows bitter disappointment, even though the possibility was so slim. Henry’s last name was Baxter, and his human form was a man with dark hair and golden brown skin. Len, who hasn’t once loosened his grip on him the entire trip back, hums low in his chest.

“You were used against me,” Sierra continues, quiet anger seeping into an underlying growl, “your _father_ , Lewis, he used to be my rider. Ended up trading me for money, and held a sledgehammer next to your shell if I refused to go.” She sighs, “I’m so happy you didn’t end up in chains.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Len mutters. Barry finally knows where he gets the constant baby-holds: Sierra’s cradling him just like one and he is _completely_ on board. “He wasn’t exactly father of the year, but after he went to prison the first time, he raised a hand against us.”

Barry shivers under the sound that emanates from the mother’s chest. Len and Lisa, however, relax.

“Don’t worry, Mama,” Lisa sighs from where she’s curled under her wing—and Barry never thought Lisa Snart’d be a ‘Mama’ type, “Lenny’s dragons captured him. We go to kill him ourselves.”

Sierra begrudgingly loosens with them. “Well,” she grumbles, “at least there’s that.”

Barry paws the air as he always does when Len cradles him. “But why isn’t Lisa an Ice, then?”

Sierra replies, “My sire, Robert, he was a damn good Poison.” Nuzzling a purring Lisa, “I’m proud to know my daughter’s got his mouth. And _Leonard_! I never thought I’d have an emerging in my line. Your wings are gorgeous, honey.”

Len’s voice stays quiet as he says, “Thanks, Mom.”

Barry could cry with how happy his handler’s feeling right now.

Mick’s scent curls into the chamber. “I think you’ll wanna see this,” he’s saying to someone.

Those someones turn out to be Constance and Beverly.

And. Oh. Yep. They _definitely_ know Sierra.

Barry’s gonna need new eardrums—until Sierra mentions a dragon named Coretta and everything goes quiet again. Apparently, neither Coretta nor her egg made it past a year.

“By the time she went, you were long gone,” Beverly sighs, “I’m so sorry, Ri. We shoulda—”

Sierra interrupts with an affectionate butt of heads. “Now, now,” she murmurs, “what happened wasn’t your fault. Culprit’s already dead, my babies are here…I’m ready to move on, ladies. We’ll do somethin’ for Coretta later, yeah?”

And Beverly Jackson, _Beverly Jackson_ , nods her head and replies, “Yes, ma’am.”

(Of _course_ Sierra’s older than Beverly. Oh boy.)

Barry snuggles closer to Len’s heartbeat. Licking under his chin, he whispers, “Happy really belated Parents’ Day, Len.”

Len’s bond glows. “Yeah.”

* * *

 

“ _What’s this_ I hear about your _sleeping with_ your sister’s rider?”

“…Mom…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you probably guessed who Robbie was as soon as I introduced her. My red herring (the not-Henry Allen) was a desperate attempt to get you to think otherwise, but OH WELL, THERE YOU GO.
> 
> Also, yes, I know it was quick. But this isn't an angst series. If anyone wants to expand on Barry and Sierra's time together in captivity, I invite you to do so. For now though, we're goin' quick and happy endings.

**Author's Note:**

> I have decided: this series is going to be PLATONIC coldflash. Platonic relationships should be treasured.
> 
> Also, Barry and Len have been together so long because, remember, Len handled him since his hatching.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
